A Very Degenerate College Game Day

When I saw that my… boss? Internet friend? Blog daddy? I don’t know what his title is officially, but when I saw that Chavy wrote a blog about the different ways to enjoy a weekend of college football, it hadn’t even occurred to me that people spend their weekends during football season doing things differently than me. Not to bury the lede, but it got me thinking that my football weekends are so meticulously scheduled out and and weird, that it’s actually beyond narcissistic of me to think that anyone would spend their football weekends the same way I do. Not to speak for an entire demographic, but I think it’s only fair that I describe the football Saturday of a degenerate.

“Hey Lafferty, stay in your lane, man. No one wants to hear you talk football,” the haters chant in unison.

Well if golf is my true love, then football is my drug.

The truth is, my football week actually starts on Thursday.

I see the matchups flash on the sportscaster marquis. Central Connecticut vs. Ball State. My brain wanders. Didn’t a guy from Rutgers get indicted on murder charges that were eventually dropped due to a technicality? That guy transferred to Central Connecticut. They’re +3.5 against Ball State. I swore I wouldn’t text my bookie “you up?” until Saturday, but if I start two units up, my bankroll going into the weekend means I’ll be able to hammer that Honolulu Community College game against the Western Pacific Institute for the Blind.

Okay, just a taste.

Ball State wins 42-2. That’s okay, Saturday will be here soon enough.

On Friday, it’s time to get supplies. Provisions if you will. I head to the store after work. The liquor store is the first stop. Cocktails this weekend? There’s probably a good SEC matchup on. I’ll get bourbon. It’s festive. I grab a 24 pack of Bud Light and carefully balance the Maker’s Mark on top of the case.

I hit the grocery store. A reasonably sized, 4 pound brisket flat is $23, but a 13 pound full brisket is $45. That’s value. Who cares if it’s just for me and like one other person.

After heading home, crack open the bourbon then bed. Better get some shut-eye, tomorrow’s a big day.

I wake up at 9 AM, head is pounding. Turns out one nightcap bourbon turned into six. Now officially low on bourbon.

I flip on College Gameday and prepare the brisket. A little quick math says the brisket won’t be ready until about 2AM on Sunday. That’s okay, it’s game day.

After throwing the brisket on the pit (that’s fancy talk for a budget electric smoker), I settle into the couch with a few Bud Lights. The way I see it, it’s about 10:30 AM, and it will be noon soon which is totally fair play for drinking time.

The first games kick off. A couple of lower tier ACC matchups and a Big XII game. Kinda boring, but I think UVA will cover. The brisket is starting to smell good. Time to order Uber eats. Is three Taco Bell Quesaritos enough for a balanced late breakfast?

The first games finish up. I’m down four units. I get a text from a buddy.

“Hey man, you said you were doing game day big this weekend! Mind if I roll through?”

Kind of weird, we’re a third of the way through the game day and a lot of action has already happened. Is my buddy up on his bets for the day? Did he find some loose bookie or some prop bets I didn’t know about? An American Psycho style of jealously/rage washes over me, but I tell him he can come over, but I tell him to bring bourbon because so much of mine was missing from the day before.

It’s now 3 PM. My buddy came over. I’m still in my underwear and stained T-shirt. He brought his girlfriend. I don’t like her. I’m about to lose my three first half O/U’s and I hate her even more for no reason.

“You got anything to drink? I thought you were having a party or something?”

I tell my buddy I have Bud Light in the fridge and obviously the warm bourbon he brought. His girlfriend isn’t enthused. She thought the brisket would be ready, but she doesn’t know how a true pitmaster rolls.

Disappointed, they leave, but the bourbon stays. I pour a glass because it’s now 7:30 PM and I’m down eight units.

The primetime games kick in. Everyone is excited, but I’m irritable. The fancy uniforms, the wild stadium entrances, and all other pageantry do nothing to soothe the ass kicking my wallet has taken today.

The next few hours are a blur. I’m probably down around ten units, but I could be up ten units. I don’t know. I pass out.

I wake up at 5:00 AM. I fell asleep on my couch. My mouth is parched. I grab the nearest bottle and take a swig and do a cartoon-style spit-take. It’s piss from my borderline blackout from the night before. Oh yeah, I forgot to take off the brisket. It’s charcoal by now.